


your visions made of flesh and light

by peacefrog



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Gender Roles, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: “You never let me cook for you,” Will said, taking Hannibal’s offered glass of bourbon. “You never let me do anything, in fact. Unless it’s taking out the trash or fixing the dishwasher.”
Hannibal smiled and took his seat by the fire. “Seems we’ve fallen into a routine.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the amazing [granpappy-winchester](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/) for the fabulous, gorgeous, spectacular art for this fic, which you will find toward the end of this piece. Not only did Sara bring this fic to life through her out-of-this-world skills, she was also my biggest cheerleader while writing this, and inspired so many little details along the way. You are the best, my friend. <3

_I made this place for you. A place for you to love me_.  
_If this isn’t the kingdom then I don’t know what is_.  
—Richard Siken

— 

“You never let me cook for you,” Will said, taking Hannibal’s offered glass of bourbon. “You never let me do anything, in fact. Unless it’s taking out the trash or fixing the dishwasher.”

Hannibal smiled and took his seat by the fire. “Seems we’ve fallen into a routine.”

Will hesitated a moment before he spoke. “Molly was the same way.”

The tight line of Hannibal’s mouth twitched in the firelight. He sipped his drink slow. “Is that so?”

— 

Routine was one way to describe their new life together. Will preferred to think of it as absurdly domestic. An easy dance through rooms echoing the softness of memory. It felt too simple, too clear, but considering the chaos of their shared history, Will was all too happy to let it be.

They’d settled in Switzerland, in a small lakeside village cradled in the looming shadow of the Alps. Six months removed from their fateful plunge into the Atlantic, Will could look around and finally say the most overwhelming presence in his days had evolved into something like comfort.

Dinner was always at precisely 7:30. The night after their conversation by the fire, Will sat down at the dining room table, and like clockwork Hannibal glided in from the kitchen, two plates balanced in his elegant hands.

Hannibal curiously still had an apron tied around his waist. It was new, Will thought, crisp white with the slightest hint of ruffles at the edge. Nothing overtly feminine, though it had thick ties that Hannibal had fashioned into an oversized bow in the back.

“Terrine de foie gras,” Hannibal said, setting the plates down and pouring glasses of sweet sauternes.

Will couldn’t help but stare as Hannibal took his seat. “Looks... delicious,” he said, eyes cast on the space between Hannibal’s body and the table. “Is… is that new?”

Hannibal gave will a look of feigned confusion, then gazed down at his own lap. “It is. There’s an antique shop nearby. I ventured there this morning before you woke.”

“That doesn’t look like an antique.”

“A piece of Americana from the 1950’s. The previous owner cherished and cared for it greatly.”

Will took of a bite of foie gras. It melted like butter on his tongue. “It suits you,” he said, reaching for his wine.

Hannibal’s posture softened, and though he did his best to stay composed, there was no mistaking the smile that overtook his face.

—

After dinner Hannibal cleared their plates, and Will trailed behind him into the kitchen.

“Let me,” Will said, carrying wine glasses to the sink.

Hannibal gently pulled the glasses from Will’s hands and set them on the counter. “I’ll bring you your drink in the study when I’m finished.”

Will stood back and watched Hannibal glide through his task, running the dish water and dipping the glasses in, gently scrubbing them with a sponge. “I’m capable of washing a glass, Hannibal.” Will’s words came out harsher than he had intended.

Hannibal paused and met Will’s eyes. “I know. But you shouldn’t have to,” he said, returning to his careful scrubbing of the glass.

A bit of water beaded down the front of Hannibal’s apron, catching on the ruffled hem. Will watched as it soaked in before turning and making his way from the room.

—

Will had bourbon poured and sitting on the table between their chairs when Hannibal came into the study. In the light of the fire the annoyance was apparent on his face.

“It’s just whisky. Sit down, Hannibal.”

Hannibal took his seat, leaving his drink untouched. “I don’t think you’re helpless, you know. That’s not at all what this is about.”

Will sipped his bourbon. “I know what this is. Molly used to do it, too. When we first bought the cabin she wouldn’t even let me put my own glass in the sink.”

Hannibal tensed visibly. “I’m not your wife.”

Their eyes met across the little table, logs in the fireplace crackling and spitting up sparks. Shadows on the wall coiled like the twisted tines of antlers before flickering away. Hannibal looked handsome in his clean white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. 

_Beautiful_ , Will thought. _Beautiful_.

Will pushed Hannibal’s glass of bourbon across the table until it teetered on the edge. “Just drink.”

—

The next morning, Hannibal had the apron on while serving breakfast. It appeared to have been cleaned and pressed overnight. They ate eggs benedict and watched the clouds spill over the mountains through the window.

“I think I’ll go fishing this afternoon,” Will said, licking hollandaise sauce from his fork, “bring home something for you to cook for me.”

In the early morning, cloud-filtered light, Hannibal appeared to blush.

—

There was a stream not far from their little house, uphill and beyond their swath of land, cut into the slope of the mountain and surrounded on all sides by a thicket of tall ash trees. Will made the short trek in solitude, dressed in waders and loaded down with tackle. He thought of Hannibal in the kitchen, making pastries with his strong hands.

The stream was calm when he reached it, rippling in the afternoon sun that fought through the sparse clouds to beat down upon the earth. Will set out his tackle and readied his line, attaching fly to tippet, before wading out into the water. 

Will cast his line, an extension of himself reaching up to the sky and then down into the current. He thought of Hannibal in the study, arm raised high above his head, clutching a duster made of feathers. He swept particles from bookshelves with a flick of his delicate wrist, sending dust motes streaming out into a slant of sun like stars.

Will caught two big brown trout in the murky water. They gobbled hooks that lodged inside their golden cheeks and left blood rolling down Will’s fingers. He bundled them together and trudged back to the house with his catch slung over his shoulder, water streaming behind like the tail of a comet.

—

Will tramped onto the porch and set his tackle by the door. He entered into the foyer with his waders on, still wet and dirty from the stream. Muddy water beaded from the rubber and down onto the floor, a puddle forming at his feet. Remembering where he was, Will turned to go back to the porch and strip them off, but stopped in his tracks as Hannibal glided in from the hall.

He had the apron on again, tied low on his hips and set against a shirt the color of the sky dotted through with white. He wore it unbuttoned down past his collarbone, a soft patch of silver-gray hair peeking out. At his throat he wore a necklace, unusual and quite unlike anything Will had seen Hannibal in before. Pearls, delicate and white, each one no larger than a pea, stood out in stark contrast against his skin.

“Beautiful catch,” Hannibal said, taking the trout from Will’s hand and running his fingers down one of their glistening bodies.

Will’s words caught beneath his tongue, eyes focused on the pearls around Hannibal’s neck. His pulse quickened. “Thank you,” he managed after a moment, forcing himself to meet Hannibal’s gaze.

Hannibal stood close, close enough for Will to smell the lavender of his soap and hear the soft draw of his breathing. Will continued dripping onto the floor. Hannibal licked his lips and Will’s stomach clenched. 

Hannibal smirked. “You may leave your things here. I’ll take care of the mess after I’ve taken these to the kitchen,” he said, voice the softest rumble. 

“No, you—” Will fell deep into Hannibal’s shining gaze. His eyes spilled eagerness, brimming with hunger. “Thank you.”

Hannibal answered with a cheerful nod and took the fish down the hall to the kitchen. Will stripped off his waders and hesitated a moment before leaving them there in a pile on the floor. It didn’t feel right, leaving such a mess when he was perfectly capable of cleaning it up for himself.

Will thought of Hannibal’s hungry eyes and allowed himself to walk away from the mess and into the house. He took a long, hot shower, and when he was through the foyer was spotless as ever. The melodic tick of Hannibal’s knife against the cutting board drew Will toward the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and watched Hannibal chop.

“Go put your feet up,” Hannibal said, not lifting his eyes from his task. “Relax. I’ll see you at 7:30.”

—

Will went to his room while Hannibal cooked. He sat in the armchair by the window and watched the curtains flutter in the breeze. Outside the sky had turned ashen gray. He thought of Molly with her hair pulled back, making dinner in their cabin’s kitchen. Though he missed her kind face and delicate hands, he found he didn’t long for her, nor their life together. He thought of her with fondness, but soon her memory dissipated like early morning fog.

The halls of his mind filled with thoughts of Hannibal, his strong hands working and the willowy lines of his wrists. The bow of his lips and how they glistened when he smiled. The easy way they moved together, fell together as one.

Despite it all, however, their relationship had remained utterly devoid of sex, or any true sense of romance since their arrival in their new home. Will’s head had been a mess of static for months after their fall, he’d barely thought of sex at all. Not with Hannibal or anyone else, had barely allowed his hands to roam down below his belt to bring himself off in the dark and quiet of night.

But as the days dripped on he found himself drawn to Hannibal, not only through the connection of their minds, but for the potential of so much more. The horror Will had once felt at allowing himself to love a monster had withered to dust, and in its place a dull ache bloomed.

Hannibal wanted to take care of him, but there was something more than that. The apron. The necklace. The insistence upon the tender dynamic they were tumbling slowly into. Will’s hand fell down against the front of his trousers, gripping the line of his growing erection. Hannibal’s scent still overwhelmed his senses as he breathed in deep, slow. His cock began to swell as he thought of the pearls encircling Hannibal’s throat.

Will closed his eyes and undid his fly, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. He shoved his trousers down and took his cock in hand, holding the weight between his fingers and reveling in the ache. He rolled his hips and his length slid slick against his palm. Hannibal’s voice rattled in his skull. Relief washed over him like sugar melting on his tongue.

It didn’t take long for Will to find himself flying over the edge, tumbling as he and Hannibal had right into the sea, though when he hit this time there was no pain, no cold, only the warmth and comfort of long overdue release. He came all over the front of his shirt and did his best to muffle his sobs, though little whimpers escaped as Hannibal’s handsome face washed ashore in his mind.

It took Will a long time to come down after that. He sat there slumped down in the chair, regaining control of his breathing. When he finally pulled himself to his feet to change and wash his hands, the sun had dipped low in the west, blazing a fiery path on its steady course toward the horizon.

—

At 7:30 sharp Hannibal entered the dining room carrying their plates of trout, the air brimming with thyme and citrus. He’d changed his shirt from earlier, this time pairing the apron and pearls with a lilac button-down. It was airy and feminine, sheer enough to show the line of his body underneath. The delicate buttons matched the pearls of Hannibal’s necklace. Had Will seen it hanging alone on a rack, he would have mistaken it for a woman’s blouse. Perhaps that conclusion wouldn’t have been a mistake at all.

Hannibal poured glasses of albariño and took his seat. He tilted his head, scenting the air. “I hope you had no trouble relaxing as you waited.” He smirked, eyes hooded and focused on Will’s face.

A faint blush crept up Will’s neck. “I had a… very relaxing time. Thank you.”

Hannibal’s eyes brimmed with that familiar hunger. “I’m glad to hear it. You deserve to relax after working so hard to put this meal on the table.”

Will took a bite of the perfectly flaky fish. “All I did was catch it. You cooked it perfectly, Hannibal. It’s delicious.”

Hannibal’s smile at that was something Will could only describe as demure. “Thank you, Will.”

They finished their meal in silence, sharing subtle glances over the rims of their wine glasses. When they were through, Will allowed Hannibal to clear the table, and retired to the study without protest to wait for his drink.

—

The next morning Will went to the kitchen for coffee. Hannibal stood at the counter, a baby pink silk robe flowing from his shoulders and tied tight around his slender waist. Will froze in his tracks, utterly paralyzed. 

“Good morning,” Hannibal said, placing a warm mug in Will’s hands.

Will gaped, wide-eyed, gaze flicking up at down Hannibal’s form. He swallowed thickly and held onto the steaming mug tight. “Thank you,” he croaked, focused on the way the silk clung to Hannibal’s chest.

—

That afternoon Hannibal changed into a black cap-sleeve blouse with an ivory collar. He paired it with tight black slacks that hugged his curves and sat low on his hips. Will excused himself to his room and rutted against his pillow, coming hard with Hannibal’s name dancing on his tongue.

—

Days passed, palpable tension between them simmering in the air, the bow upon which they balanced drawing tight. Hannibal’s wardrobe burst with shades of pink and lilac and delicate blues, ruffles and silk and lace. 

The night Hannibal glided into the dining room in white patent leather heels, it took all of Will’s strength to focus on eating his dinner. They didn’t speak about it, though they both knew, that which was shifting between them. What Hannibal was doing, what he desired them to be, what they in so many ways already were.

“You look lovely tonight,” Will said, so quiet he couldn’t be certain at first the words had even come out.

The blush that bloomed on Hannibal’s cheeks was unmistakable. 

—

The following afternoon Will searched for Hannibal, finding him, unsurprisingly, in the kitchen. At first glance, Will was certain Hannibal was wearing another new blouse, sky blue with polka dots and a plunging neckline that showed off the silver-gray hair of his chest. Rounding the counter, Will’s eyes fell down, following the slope of Hannibal’s back, but where slacks should have began the material fluttered down into a long skirt that hit just below the knee.

A dress. Hannibal was wearing a dress, his apron from the same era tied neatly around his waist. Beneath the billowing skirt sheer stockings hugged Hannibal’s calves, crisp white heels on his feet.

“ _Oh_ ,” Will gaped, dumbfounded as Hannibal’s strong hands worked pastry dough against the counter. The lean muscles of his forearms rippled as he moved, skirt fluttering down against his legs.

It was automatic, the way Will took calculating steps until he was right behind Hannibal, eyes dragging from his delicate ankles up to the broad expanse of his shoulders. He was perfectly masculine and feminine at once, strong and capable, delicate and soft. Will reached out a hand and grasped Hannibal’s arm, and at once Hannibal ceased his movement.

“Will,” Hannibal gasped over his shoulder, posture soft and aching. 

Will pulled his hand away, pressing himself right up against Hannibal’s back. He breathed hot against the space between Hannibal’s shoulders, cock thickening as Hannibal let out a desperate keening sound.

Will’s hands roamed down beneath Hannibal’s skirt, fingers running up the backs of his thighs, bumping against the clips of his garters. Up and up Will explored, until he reached the swell of Hannibal’s ass, the lacy trim of his panties.

Will bunched the fabric of Hannibal’s skirt up in his hands. “Is this what you want?”

Hannibal’s body trembled. “Please,” he begged, voice quaking. 

Will pushed Hannibal’s skirt up higher, unclipping his garters and getting his fingers down inside the delicate lace of his panties. Will dragged two fingers across his entrance, finding it slick and prepped for the taking.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, dizzy. “You did this for me?” he whispered against Hannibal’s warm neck. “Hoping…”

“Yes,” Hannibal breathed, gripping the edge of the counter. “I’ve been hoping for quite some time.”

It all happened so fast then, Will unbuckling his belt, zipping his fly down, shoving pants and boxers down around his knees. He pulled Hannibal’s panties down to his thighs and flipped his skirt up high.

He spread Hannibal’s cheeks and dragged his aching cock head over his slippery entrance, on the edge of tears or coming or collapsing right there on the floor. He wrapped an arm around Hannibal’s waist and held him close as he slid in, Hannibal’s body a slick invitation swallowing him up until he was buried entirely in all that sweet heat.

“Fuck,” Will breathed against Hannibal’s back, bending him down and spreading him across the countertop. 

Their bodies locked together, Will nipping at the back of Hannibal’s neck as he moved, slow. He rolled his hips like lapping waves, desperate to make the moment stretch on and on. “You’re beautiful,” Will whispered, hands gripping Hannibal’s hips, gentle and tender.

Hannibal choked on his moans, face pressed down against the flour-covered countertop, ruining what would have been that night’s dessert. “Will,” Hannibal pleaded, holding Will’s name like a prayer. “ _Will_.”

Will reached around and took Hannibal’s hard length in his hand, stroking in time with the quiet rhythm of his hips, root-to-tip, pulling a symphony from Hannibal’s lips. “You take such good care of me,” he purred, his own orgasm drawing close. “Let me take care of you.”

A half dozen more tight, lazy strokes later Hannibal spilled all over Will’s fingers, crying out, sobbing, the warmth of his release dripping down against the floor. Will joined him in the fall, relief rippling through him easy and bone-deep. He filled Hannibal to the brim and collapsed against his back.

When the two of them managed to pull themselves upright, chests still heaving, Hannibal’s front was covered in flour and pastry dough.

“Sorry about that,” Will huffed out, tucking himself back into his pants, eyeing the ruined front of Hannibal’s dress.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Hannibal said, slicking his wild hair back behind his ears. He pulled his panties up, clipped garters to stockings, and went about cleaning up the mess as if nothing had happened at all.

Warmth blossomed deep inside Will’s chest. “I’ll see you for dinner, then.” 

—

The following day Will visited the mountain stream, this time catching nothing more than a solitary trout, though it was large and fat, plenty enough for the two of them. He carried it down the slope, hook shining in its cheek, and when he’d nearly reached the bottom a patch of purple aster dotted amongst so much green caught his eye. Will picked a handful, shoving them in the pocket of his vest.

At home, in the foyer, Will tracked mud across the floor. Hannibal greeted him there, in his blue dress from the previous day, cleaned and absolutely spotless. His lips were painted scarlet. Will pulled a single purple bloom from his pocket, tucking is delicately behind Hannibal’s ear.

Hannibal blushed and wrapped his arms around Will’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to each cheek. “Welcome home.”

Will’s face flushed the shade of Hannibal’s lips as Hannibal nuzzled into him. “I should go shower.”

Hannibal pulled the fish from Will’s hand and the bundle of aster from his pocket, then disappeared down the hall. Will dropped his dirty fishing gear right there on the floor, stripping off his clothes for good measure before padding naked into the house.

—

—

Dinner that night carried with it the air of a dream. The aster Will had picked sat in a small vase in the center of the table. Hannibal floated in from the kitchen in his dress and pearls, a soft smile on his face as he served the trout and poured the wine. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and Will could hardly recall the easy conversation they shared over their meal at all.

Hannibal cleared the dishes, Will sat and finished his wine. He pushed back from the table and made to stand, but Hannibal caught his wrist and urged him gently back into his seat. Hannibal kneeled between Will’s knees, and without a word began to work open his belt, unzip his fly.

“You don’t have to do that,” Will said, though he had already grown fully erect, had been half-hard for the entirety of dinner.

“It would please me very much to please you,” Hannibal said, clinically going about his task of pulling Will’s pants down to his knees.

Will gripped the arms of the chair and leaned back, groaning as Hannibal grasped his shaft and sealed his red lips around the head of his cock, lapping at his leaking slit and massaging his aching balls. Will ran his fingers through Hannibal’s soft hair, fucking up between his lips with lazy thrusts of his hips.

Hannibal took Will into his throat then, swallowing him down with ease, pulling Will so quickly to completion the room around them began to spin and fall away. Hannibal let out a deep, rumbling moan as Will came deep in his throat, letting Will go soft in his mouth before pulling away and resting his head in Will’s lap.

Will stroked Hannibal’s hair with trembling fingers. “That was… incredible.”

“It was.”

“Do you need me to…”

“No. I’m quite alright for now, I assure you.” Hannibal pulled back, gazing up at Will with dark eyes and glistening lips.

“Later, then.” Will said, bending down to nuzzle against Hannibal’s face. “Pleasing you pleases me, too, you know.”

Hannibal smiled and their lips met in the gentlest of kisses. When they parted, Hannibal’s eyes were shining. “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

“So have I,” Will whispered, caressing Hannibal’s stubbled cheek. “So have I.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com)!


End file.
